Followed

Lauren tensed. Someone was on the other side of the tree. She swallowed hard, slowly reaching out for the pistol. She cocked it. Here goes nothing… As fast as she had ever moved in her life, Lauren stood, twisting around the tree and leveling her pistol at the figure there. Everything seemed to blur as she cried, "Don't come any closer!"

The man shaped form raised its arms up slowly. "It's all right, Lauren. It's me—it's d'Artagnan."

I know that voice. The mist cleared, and she dropped the gun, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Lauren looked down at them incredulously. Why am I doing this? I didn't even shoot.

D'Artagnan came over quickly when the pistol fell harmlessly to the ground. He stooped to pick it up, releasing the lever and tucking it into his belt. "Why are you out here alone? Where's Jacqueline?" he said a little too forcefully. Lauren looked up at him. I could have shot him…I could have killed him. D'Artagnan seemed to notice her inability to speak. "I'm sorry," he apologized soothingly. "You are fine. It's all right now." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and Lauren allowed herself to bury her face in his chest to regain her self-control. She slowed her breathing and let the shaking subside before pulling away.

"She's fighting. Three men came, in red. She told me to run," was what she blurted out. D'Artagnan jumped ahead of her.

"Show me the way," he ordered, somehow sounding urgent and gentle at the same time. Lauren nodded and started off at a fast walk, taking care to go exactly the way she came. Her eyes were intently focused on the ground when d'Artagnan jerked her backwards. "Look out," he cried as a rapier came crashing down out of nowhere. Lauren fell backwards, and the blade drew a thin line of blood across her outstretched palm. She scrambled away on the ground as d'Artagnan engaged the third Guardsman in a duel. Glancing around, she realized that he must have hidden himself in the trees, waiting for Jacqueline to come looking for her so he could launch a surprise attack.

Lauren watched with wide eyes her first real swordfight. D'Artagnan seemed to finish him with relative ease, and she did not even realize it was over until d'Artagnan was picking her up from the ground. His face was only inches from hers as he stared directly into her eyes. "Don't look at him, look at me." Lauren's gaze instantly snapped to meet his. "I need you to show me to Jacqueline. Just keep moving."

Lauren was numb, but she started walking obediently, her feet carrying her forward of their own will. Her hand stung, and tiny drops of blood began to drip off as she walked on endlessly. When the clearing was plainly visible ahead though the trees, d'Artagnan passed her, rushing in to aid his comrade. Lauren made it the last few feet to the edge and leaned heavily on the tree beside her. Jacqueline was kneeling next to one of the red men sprawled out on the dirt. He looks dead, Lauren thought aimlessly. She had never seen a dead man, but something inside her could tell. D'Artagnan stepped lightly across the dirt, putting a hand on Jacqueline's shoulder.

She stood, and said teasingly, "Of course you show up after I do all the dirty work."

"Hey, I had my share, too," he nodded over at Lauren. Following his gesture, Jacqueline shook her head at him and came over to the disoriented girl, concern evident on her face. Taking note of her bloody hand, she guided Lauren over to the horses. An emergency supply of bandages was tucked away in a saddlebag, and she wrapped the cut in thick layers.

"I suppose you couldn't take a moment to patch her up?" she asked d'Artagnan without looking at him. She tucked the loose end in the wrap as he answered.

"I wanted to make sure you were all right," he said defensively. After a pause, he admitted sheepishly, "And I didn't see it until now."

Jacqueline snorted. "Of course a man wouldn't notice something like that," she told Lauren in a low voice. Startled by the remark, Lauren gave a strangled sounding laugh. It shook her out of her funk.

"Don't take me on any more field trips, okay?" Lauren said, prodding the bandage with her other hand's free fingers.

"As long as you promise not to kiss Gil in front of my bedroom door," Jacqueline replied with a mischievous gleam in her eye and a half smile playing on her lips. Lauren's mouth opened wide in astonishment. I know she didn't just bring that up again…

D'Artagnan could not hide his wide grin but nevertheless changed the subject. "I think we'd better get back. I still have to find my horse…"

Lauren sat up on Siroc's worktable once again. "My scraped up face has only just healed, and I'm back here again," she said exasperatedly. The doctor himself was only half listening, dabbing the blood away from her hand with a hot, wet cloth to clean the wound and assess the damage.

"It was only a superficial cut, nothing really hurt." He only seemed to be speaking his thoughts aloud. Siroc dabbed his fingers in his special ointment and smeared it across Lauren's palm. Jacqueline came forward to re-bandage the injured hand.

"Anything to prevent an infection?" Lauren asked. She could not really recall the extent of medical knowledge in the seventeenth century.

Siroc looked off dreamily, "I've been working on experimental disease prevention, but all I've found is an enzyme that is in many body fluids, like tears. It has a natural disease fighting effect, but not against the strongest infectious agents."

Lauren sighed. I might regret this later… "Could I get some moldy bread then?"

Jacqueline frowned, glancing up from the task at hand. "Why would you want molded bread?"

"The mold has penicillin in it," Lauren explained. "It's an antibiotic—a 'disease killing agent' or whatever. Someone told me in a history class that that's how some people survived the plague, if they had enough penicillin mold in their system when it struck."

"How did you figure that out?" asked Siroc, setting his notebook down again.

"I happen to be related to Alexander Fleming, the man who discovered it," she replied proudly. "Besides, it's pretty common knowledge in my time; penicillin has saved its share of people."

"I'll have to set up an experiment…" the inventor mumbled, and Lauren knew she had lost him. She hopped off the table, taking care to not use her bad hand, and Jacqueline silently accompanied her out of the lab to the kitchens in search of moldy bread.

Abandonment

Lauren walked beside Jacqueline, the musketeer silenced by guilt at having been indirectly responsible for her injury. Lauren managed to pull out a few words of reassurance to break the awkward barrier between them. "Thanks for what you did out there, Jacques. I knew you would save the day."

The slightly older and taller woman looked sideways at Lauren, nodding her gratitude. Before either could get out another word, a certain voice rang out through the corridor.

Gil jogged up from behind them, panting slightly as though he had been running the halls. He nodded toward Jacqueline, but spoke only to Lauren. "D'Artagnan said you were hurt—are you all right?"

Lauren exchanged a look with Jacqueline, and the latter abruptly excused herself. "I'd better get back to work," she said, making her escape by stepping quickly forward and around the corner.

I'm going to kill that woman for abandoning me, Lauren thought, steeling herself to face Gil alone. She lifted her arm to display the bandaged hand. "Just a scratch; it's nothing, really."

"It's not 'nothing,'" Gil replied as he took the wounded hand in his own. He gently kissed the fingers sticking out from the bulky cloth. "I would die before letting one hair on your head be harmed." His green gaze met hers, and Lauren froze.

What is this? she asked herself. Why am I turning to jelly whenever he meets my eyes? Aloud, she squeaked, "That wouldn't be necessary." Clearing her throat in embarrassment, Lauren withdrew her hand slowly, ignoring the small pleasure she felt in sliding her fingers through his, and looked down, away, just so she would not fall into his trap. She had never been skilled in dealing with affection—a quick flashback to a certain boy in her Government/Economics class brought a blush to her cheeks.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" Gil asked softly. Lauren glanced up quickly and looked away again.

"What?"

"Tonight," he repeated. "The Café Nouveau is having a Rhapsody Night. I was wondering if you would accompany me." He looked down at her earnestly.

Do they go on dates in the seventeenth century? she mused. She was just about to form the words for a polite rejection when her mouth rebelled. "Yes," Lauren's voice said, the short affirmative ringing loudly in her ears. What have I done?

Gil's face lit up instantly, his delight almost making up for her slip. Lauren, however, felt obliged to add, "If Siroc allows me to, of course. Shall we go ask him now?" There! Papa Siroc will never agree for me to go out with him, and I'll be off the hook, looking none the worse for wear. Lauren gave Gil a shining smile as she turned back to the lab, and he beamed at her retreating figure.

"Yes?" Lauren's tone was incredulous. She stood facing her jury of Jacqueline, d'Artagnan, and Ramon and the judge, Siroc. He's also my executioner, Lauren thought, a lump forming in her throat.

"You may go with Gilbert. Ramon will be there, and Jacques and d'Artagnan have promised to keep an eye on you as well. It's all right with me," Siroc smiled, like he was doing her a favor by letting her go. Lauren felt like pulling a pretend swoon; really, really tempted she was. D'Artagnan looked like the cat that had caught the canary, all smug because Gil had finally gotten hooked up with girl. Jacqueline was simply wearing her secret, knowing smile, and Ramon managed to look excited for some reason.

In fact, the Spaniard was thrilled. "You will be able to see the best poets in Paris at work, in their element, at the source of inspiration. Do you like poetry?"

Lauren sighed; she could never escape from this commitment now. "I like songs. Do they count?"

With a quick flick of a gaze at the dirty crumpled grey and blue Lauren wore, Jacqueline interrupted, "I'll help you find a nicer outfit to wear." Lauren raised an eyebrow at the female musketeer. "Not a dress," she sighed as she stood, "a clean uniform. Don't worry; we aren't trying to change you." She gave a quick wink as she led the disgruntled Lauren out the door.

At dusk that evening, a parade of five musketeers left the garrison. One led the way, already warming up loudly for the long night of rhapsody ahead. Two old friends walked side by side, murmuring in low voices, smiling about whatever they were discussing. And a rather short looking grey paced stiffly next to her companion who kept stealing glances her way. A strange sight if anyone had actually been out to notice this odd party; the streets were strangely deserted. This Rhapsody Night must be a bigger deal than I thought, noted Lauren. She made a point of staring at the back of d'Artagnan's head as she walked behind him, pointedly ignoring the looks of Gil.

And yes, the café was more packed than a crowd milling before the Mona Lisa in the modern Louvre. Ramon darted in bravely to catch up on the poetry he had already missed. Jacqueline and d'Artagnan found themselves a table for two in the back, and Lauren swallowed hard as Gil firmly took hold of her hand to guide her through the mass of cheering spectators. He dragged her to the last open table, off to the side of the performers.

Lauren dropped into her chair before Gil could attempt to pull it out for her or do something equally as unnecessary. Her eyes wandered over to the present recitation, and she tried to involve herself in the words, but her heart was not in it. Defeated, she turned to the attentions of Gilbert Chantal. The young Musketeer had called over a barmaid. "Coffee for me, mademoiselle, and—Lauren?" He inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Hot chocolate, if you please," the girl ordered, and the waitress scurried back to collect a round of drinks from the counter to please the ever-growing crowd. Lauren forced a small smile. "So… do you 'rhapsody', Gil?" Then, she mentally smacked herself. What kind of question was that?

But the boy took it with a grin. "My mother was the poetic kind; instead of bedtime stories, we got verses that she came up with on the spur of the moment. But I'm nothing myself, more of an art appreciator. You?"

Lauren had a brief mental image of Gil's mother spinning off some freestyle rap. That intern Mlle. Drake did say that the French liked Eminem… Snapping back to reality—or rather the alternate reality that she was currently wading through—she answered his question. "Appreciator as well. You have to be outstandingly clever to bend words to your will well enough to be a successful poet. I don't think I have enough art in my soul."

"I doubt that," he told her with a smile, green eyes locking in a steady, warm gaze. "You seem to use words to your advantage well enough." The barmaid chose then to return with their drinks, placing the steaming cups before them and flouncing away to the next table.

Lauren frowned internally, taking the moment of silence to sip the rich beverage and let the aroma of rich chocolate fill her nose. After a surveying the crowd and catching a line or two of the current poem, she returned her thoughts to the table. Just what is he playing at? Changing the subject, she said, "Well, now I know you have an uncle and a mother. How about the rest of your family?"

Gil set down his coffee, taking a breath to begin. "Not much to tell… I'm the third son of…" The time imposter settled back in her chair with the cup of chocolate to her lips. Just get a man talking about himself…

From across the room in a back booth, Jacqueline caught sight of the young couple at the table in the midst of the crowd. Gilbert was talking, and it looked like Lauren was even laughing. A small smile pulled at the corner of the female musketeer's mouth. Her companion caught the twitch and lazily asked, "Something amusing, Jacques?" He took a long drink from his rapidly cooling coffee and followed her gaze out into the rhapsodizing mass. He was content to stay in place, relatively alone in this crowd with the disguised woman he called friend.

Jacqueline nodded to the youths in deep conversation. "I think we found a way to occupy our garrison guest, and his name is Gil. Maybe he'll break her stubborn streak as well," she mused.

D'Artagnan glanced between the two musketeer women. "So you're a matchmaker now? Any chance that I can provide the same service for you?" he asked softly. Softly compared to the dull roar of the Rhapsody Night audience.

His companion shot him a stern look. "Guess not…" he sighed, his hands going up in a gesture of surrender. "…yet."